“They’re a bit early.” Andi was fiddling with the microphone.
“There’s two parties meeting. In my experience, one is always early, the other late. Kind of a law, I think.”
“And you’re full of shit tonight. When the two of us meet, we’re both late.”
“Yet I’m usually early late while you’realwayslate late.”
Andi muttered something George couldn’t understand.
A beat-up black van had pulled into the parking lot, giving the weeds there a taste of what times had been like before the area had gone down. The van did a circle around the entire parking lot, apparently not sure which spot to take—too many choices, George assumed—before it settled on one next to a broken streetlamp with a bent stem that made it look a little drunk. Or as if a giant had played a game of Mikado and forgotten the last straw. Nothing else happened, nobody came out of the van, and the minutes ticked by agonizingly slowly. George glanced at Andi, whose gaze was glued to the van.
“Can you pick anything up?”
“There’s six people in the back. Drugged, but it’s wearing off.”
George suppressed a growl. “They’re getting them ready for the customers. Sons of bitches.”
A second van pulled into the parking lot. It was also black, though it looked a little newer and better maintained. It drove straight toward the other one and stopped a few feet away. The lights of the first van flashed in a sequence—two short, one long, one short—which was answered by another sequence—one long, one short, two long, one short—before the driver’s doors on both vans opened almost simultaneously. The passenger side doors followed, each van vomiting three men in total. George kept watching them while Andi relayed their conversation, which he was getting through the earbuds from the directional microphone, in a hushed tone.
“They’re exchanging greetings, seems like another code to me, now they’re talking about the cargo”—his tone became angry when he said that—“the asshole from the second van wants confirmation that there’s really two eleven-year-olds in there”—George’s hand was itching for his gun, but they had to stay strong, had to get them all—“bastard from the first van says yes, they’re ready to do the exchange.”
George watched in helpless fury as the backs of both vans were opened and six minors, two of them indeed looking awfully young, were half dragged, half carried from one to the other. Both groups of men returned to their respective vehicles, closing the doors so loudly the sound echoed over the empty parking lot. The first van left, turning right onto the street, the second one going left. George started the car and followed the second van with the headlights off, keeping as much distance as he dared. Unfortunately, arthropods were unable to distinguish between cars, which meant they had to do this the old-fashioned way. While George focused on not losing their prey, Andi radioed the first van in, requesting them to take the driver and his companions in for whatever traffic violation the officers could come up with, claiming he and George had been out to get groceries and recognized the van as one from a crime scene, thus maintaining the story of them still keeping a low profile, as ordered by the chief.
Then Andi focused on the van as well. “I wonder where they’re going. Castain is surely not dumb enough to use his own mansion a second time.”
“We’ll see.” George was too busy watching both the van and traffic—which was very light, but still, driving without your lights on when it was dark outside was dangerous—to engage in any guessing games. Luckily for them, the van steered clear of all the main streets, navigating through the labyrinth of narrow back streets where the chance of meeting another car or some sort of law enforcement was close to zero. After about forty-five minutes of seemingly aimless driving, the van entered Mount Pleasant, a suburb of Charleston where mostly upper middle-class families resided. The driver still did his best to avoid well-lit areas, which was a lot more difficult here where money kept everything running than in Goose Creek, where any financial prowess had left long ago. They finally stopped at the very fringes of the suburb where the houses were farther apart than closer to the center and more than two-thirds were dark.
“Holiday homes. Gotta give it to Castain, he’s smart.” Andi sounded as if he’d bitten into a lemon.
“Makes sense. This is a rich area; the houses look nice and spacious. Wanna bet the owners of this house don’t know it’s being used while they’re away?”
“I don’t do bets. Now let’s see what’s going on.”
George steered their car behind the house across from the one where the van was parked, hiding it in the shadows created by a huge carport. They slipped out silently, donning their black balaclavas to hide their faces. While George wanted to call the cavalry, namely Adam Forard, who Andi had discreetly asked to take this night’s shift and who had complied without asking any questions, Andi was hesitant.
“I want to make sure Castain is there. We need to catch him, you know this.”
“Yes, we do, but there are terrified minors in that van, and we don’t know how many are already inside the house. I don’t want to add to their trauma because we put catching that asshole above their needs. That’s what everybody else has done all their lives.”
Andi looked pained, and George immediately regretted his words. “I’m sorry. I know you want to help them. It’s just….” He trailed off. There were too many emotions warring inside his chest, anger and worry being the most dominant ones. Putting the chaos in his mind into words would have taken a more eloquent man than he was. Andi put his hand on George’s arm for a moment.
“I know. I understand. We’re not waiting until something bad happens to them.” He pulled out his phone and started texting. When he was done, he put the phone back into his back pocket. “I’ve sent Forard the address and told him to get moving, but silently. They’ll be here in less than fifteen minutes, waiting for the go from us.”
George sighed in relief. “Thank you. I feel better now.”
Andi nodded. “The time of the call doesn’t really matter anymore, because we do have proof something foul is going on here. I was just overly cautious.”
Those two sentences drove home how precarious the path was Andi was walking with practically every single one of his cases. If the call for backup was sent too early, a good defense attorney would be able to poke holes into an otherwise airtight case, letting a criminal who should be behind bars walk free. If it came too late, innocents might suffer. So the timing of everything he did had to be impeccable and absolutely logical. Because telling IA or the state prosecutor that Andi had acted on information gained through creatures whose brains were so small they could find room on the head of a pin would not go down well. Especially when Andi shouldn’t have been on the case in the first place.
“I’m sorry. You’ve been doing this a lot longer than me. I should trust you more.”
Andi smiled. “Perhaps. But it’s good you’re not. I need a partner who can think quickly and who has no problem calling me out on my actions. Now let’s see what’s going on.”
They slowly crept toward the house, using the shadows created by trees and bushes to hide from the two guards that were patrolling the vicinity, although a bit lax, probably lulled by the remoteness of the location and the absolute lack of any traffic. If a car came up, they would immediately know it. The only reason they hadn’t picked up on George’s car was because the sounds of their arrival had been masked by those of the van with the cargo.
They managed to reach the back door without incident while the guards were busy having a smoke in the front yard. Clearly, they weren’t pros.
George picked the lock to gain them entry, and they slipped inside quietly. The house was not nearly as grand as the Castain mansion in Berkeley County, but big enough for whoever hosted this “party” not to use all the space, which meant George and Andi could move through the dark parts of the ground floor without any trouble. It seemed the action would be concentrated on the second floor where the bedrooms were located, or so George presumed. There was no need to light the entire house, risking exposure. After checking the door to the cellar, which was closed, and the one to the pantry, which was open but revealed nothing of interest except a fondness of the owners of the house for spaghetti and premium vodka, they got close to the main entrance, where they hid in a broom closet that looked roomier from the outside. Once inside, they barely fit in without tumbling anything over, but through a crack in the solid wood of the door George could see the main entrance. The children had been brought inside as soon as the van had arrived, and now two rich-looking older men and one woman whose age George couldn’t guess because of the heavy makeup she was wearing were standing in the halllinedwith white marble tiles, drinking champagne from crystal flutes, apparently waiting for somebody or something. Three men in dark suits were positioned along the wall, and the way each of them was focusing on one of the “guests” made it clear they were bodyguards.
